When I was Young
by Ferryman
Summary: My response to LJ Genficathon 2008. Prompts : Angst and In My Youth. A old man lay thinking of his many regrets. Now he knows how short life can be.


She watched him look out the window to the horizon and beyond, his look always to a far away place

When I Was Young

- McKaysMirth / (FanFiction: Ferryman)

In My Youth

M

No Spoilers

An old man is dying and he is alone. He thinks over his years and finds his regrets are plenty.

**When I Was Young**

The nurse walked into the private room glancing at the old man in the hospital bed. He was looking out the window to the horizon and beyond, always gazing at some far away place. She could see by the lines of his skin and the look in his eyes that he had lived a hard life. She'd heard him scream in his sleep and it was a haunted, terrorised scream that had unsettled all those who heard it. It had chilled her insides like an ice wind had blown through her. She had seen his dog tags on the first day and presumed the dreams were from the horrors of war.

Sometimes curiosity got the better of her and she wondered what it was that he had seen to make him scream that way. But then she'd heard the scream again last night and she found herself hoping she would live out her days never knowing the things he knew. She busied with her duties, talking about nothing of consequence, knowing from experience that the old man would not respond, but he seemed to like the sound of her voice. She sensed him turn to look at her and automatically she glanced into his face, expecting to see the distant cloudy eyes she always saw.

She was a bit taken aback to see a lucid look in his eyes. He was in the here and now, but with clear eyes came a clear emotion that shone through. A sad, tormented look that said he had lost everything, more than one man could or should endure. It made her heart weep and she had an overwhelming urge to fold her arms around him and plant kisses on his forehead, to say everything would be okay as she would have for her own son. But she knew how proud these old soldiers could be.

She knew he was military, but she had no way of knowing that this old man was no older than her own dear son of twenty-five. That this young man had seen his nightmares walking as his year's had been stripped away from him with such ferocity and pain. There are things she will never know and things she will never see, and she will never know how lucky she is in her ignorance...

_A wraith steps out of from the shadows of the column and with a backhand blow his body flies through the air, weightless. With a sharp surge of pain his body hits the column and he crumples to the ground, his gun falling from his grasp to clatter across the floor. He turns his head to see the wraith approaching and tries to back away, but the wraith is standing before him all too quickly. With one hand the wraith reaches down and drags him up, face to face. No obvious effort in the wraith's body, lifted up as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. The wraith forces him against the column and his back screams out to him in pain._

_The wraith rips open his tac vest as easily as if it were paper; a hand slides inside to nestle against his chest. Another hand slips around his neck like a caress, securing him in place as surely as if he were nothing, as if he was not a soldier fighting against it with every ounce of strength that he has. It feels like he has been speared to the column, but still he continues to give everything. But it is not enough to stop the inevitable from happening. Slowly, through his own body he feels his life being ripped away as the wraith begins to steal his years from him, and he is helpless to stop it._

_As the pain arches through his body he is transfixed by the yellow eyes of the wraith, the snarl that looks like a half laugh, an almost curious expression at his unbearable pain. His face stretches as he throws his head back and screams out with the agony that streaks through his system. He can't stop the tears from falling; he is scared beyond his wildest nightmares and the pain is intense beyond measure. He struggles to bring his gaze back down to face this attacker, this monster. He wants to be defiant till the last. He wants this wraith to see that they will not go down easily, that they are made of stronger stuff. _

_Suddenly the wraith convulses as bullets hit him in quick repetition and he feels a feral grin slide onto his face as he watches the Wraith in pain. As the force of the bullets rips the wraith's grip on him they fall to the ground together. As he watches the yellow eyes dim he feels his life ebb away and he closes his eyes to the darkness, welcoming death into his embrace with a smile, thankful that the pain has finally gone. _

_Then he stirs, his mind clouded in confusion. His body fights against awareness; maybe on a subconscious level he knows what he will wake to. With thoughts shrouded in fog he realises he is in the infirmary. He raises a hand to gain the attention of the nurse but nothing leaves his lips. The hand that has moved into his vision transfixes him, holds his full attention. With revulsion and trepidation he moves it experimentally, and finds that it obeys his command. This old hand, layered with wrinkles and dry skin that moves to his thoughts. Then his memory starts to flood his brain with images and he realises that the hand is his, and that his youth has gone, that he is now and forever trapped in the body of an old man. _

_He doesn't want this, would rather have death than this. Even as these thoughts run through his mind he is forced to drop his hand as weakness overtakes him, as this old body betrays him. _

That is when he wakes screaming. That is when he realises he still lives on and that the nightmare continues.

He sits in his room in the dark. He can remember the weeks between then and now. He had looked around the infirmary at young men with severe injuries that would maim them for the rest of their lives, or that killed them eventually and jealousy had burned in him like a fire. He wants out of this damaged body that can't be repaired by artificial limbs or therapy. He had been ready to die for his country, but he was not ready to be held prisoner inside a body that is no longer his. Now, he just wants out.

He'd been told that there is nothing they could do to regain his youth. They explained that while his body had been forced to age, the feeding had also diminished his years permanently. They didn't know how long he has to live, but they had denied him death, no matter how much he had pleaded and begged. He will have to wait for that final embrace to free him from this nightmare.

He was moved to an old people's home. He has nothing in common with those around him; as they speak of their youth they speak of a time he never knew. He would have more in common with the porters but he cannot speak to them because the pain is too intense. They have their lives ahead of them. They have yet to realise their dreams while his are no more, mere dust on the wind. Surrounded by people who remain a constant reminder of how he once was, how he should be, youthful and carefree with a full life ahead of him.

Now he sits in his bed and waits for death. Looks for him in the shadows, with anticipation of the day it will be over. He sits in his room too weak to talk, too weak to do anything. He looks out the window, in his mind he is looking towards Atlantis, to the place he called home. He was willing to die to defend that magical city and that it still stands is the only thing he finds sanctuary in, the only thing that makes the waiting bearable. He sits alone; none of his friends or family has visited. All were told that he died in a place unknown to them and in a sense he did. His vitality is gone, his strength is no more, and his zest for life is a distant memory.

Even those who know different, the men from his unit, who know how he came to be this old man apart from the world, even they do not come. It could be that they are unable to obtain leave to do so, or it could be that they are unable to look at his ravished features, to see the man they once knew. He suspects the latter, all mirrors removed from his room as he is tired of catching the reflection of a stranger only to realise it is him.

They came that first day in the infirmary to say goodbye and have never been again. Now he spends his days in bed, looking out at the world that left him behind, all alone.

His mind, although clouded, still seeks stimulation. His thoughts still move quickly through his tired mind. As always they return to his family, something he himself can never do.

He thinks of his little sister, organising her wedding to a man he will never meet. He remembers how he argued with her all the time in his youth_. To think we only stopped a few years ago. _

He sighs a deep sigh of regret. _All those wasted years when I could have grown to know her, all I have now are two or three years of conversation, of laughter. It isn't enough._ He wonders what her dreams are, what she plans for her life. Imagines how her life will be. _I will never see your children as they run to you for hugs and kisses on the forehead as we ran to our mother._ _You'll be a good mother, sis. I wish you happiness and joy._

He thinks of his father and the things he never said. When he was a boy he would tell him he loved him every day. As he grew older it became odd to say those words, uncomfortable, and over the years he said them less and less. _I love you dad, I wish I had never stopped telling you that. _It occurs to him how strange it is that his father is the only one he grew further away from as he grew older, instead of closer. When he was younger he would run to his father as readily as he would his mother for comfort, _I remember when you were my world, my hero. _He always looked for acceptance and praise from his dad, wanting him to be proud of the things he had done. _I hope, if you could know the things I have done, the places I have been that you would be proud of me._

Most of all it is his mother he thinks of and it's always painful. All those wasted times when he saw her and didn't hold her and tell her she was loved. He recalls another time as a small boy when he woke up from a nightmare screaming. His mother had come into the room and wrapped her arms around him as she hummed in his ear. As she rocked, with gentle kisses that took away fear, the world righted itself and he returned to a peaceful and contented sleep. Throughout his childhood that tune had seemed magical and would always reduce the pain or fear in him. He played the tune again in his mind, but without her gentle kisses or warm embrace it failed to ease the pain in his heart.

He had joined the army as soon as possible. _Now, when I think how I fought to break away from you, how I struggled to stand-alone and to be independent. _He gave a deep, broken sigh. _God, I was a fool to run so fast and so far away. _He had been so eager to go his own way, to do his own thing_. I thought I would have years to show you the amazing things I would do with my life. Now all I can do is think back to a time when you held me and told me everything would be okay. _

He wishes he could feel her warm embrace one last time, listen to her humming as she rocks him and feel her gentle kisses on his forehead. _It would make everything bearable, everything okay. That it took until now to realise that I never told you I loved you and made sure you knew that I meant it. That I never told you how thankful I was for your comforting words, your ability to make everything better. That I left everything too late, thinking I had time immemorial to make my peace with the world, to say my goodbyes. _

And throughout it all he thinks not only of the life that was taken from him but the people he loves too. Inside he gives a half laugh filled with bitterness. _Sitting here maudlin through the memories of my youth, damn it! I'm still in my youth._

In his peripheral vision he sees the nurse coming in again to do her duties. _That nurse reminds me of my mother. Her eyes are soft and caring. _He heard her talking of her son and had heard the protective worry in her voice that he had used to hate to hear in his own mother's voice. He knew that her son was the same age as him even though she would never believe him. He turns to look back out to the window.

_It tears my heart apart that I will never hear my mother's voice again before I die, or my father's, or my sister's for that matter. How could they explain to my family and friends that this old man is the 24-year-old they knew? There is no accident, no chemicals, nothing on earth that could explain this away._

He watched the sunrise bring in another day, with hatred in his heart. He used to love to watch the sun arrive, but now it meant another day in this body. Yet another day that death had not come for him. His eyes felt heavy and as the last colours faded from the sky and it turned to blue.

His eyes drifted shut and his body fell limp. He could feel the last of his life ebbing away. Finally death had found him. He had waited for so long, but now at the end, faced with the prospect of dying alone, part of him was scared. Tears fell silently down his cheeks and then suddenly he felt arms wrap round him. He felt soft kisses on his forehead and in his head he heard the magical melody that his mother used to hum to him. He could feel his heart slowing, feel his fears falling away. This sense of his mother gave him peace as he slipped away.

The nurse unfolded her embrace. She rubbed the last tear from his face. Laid his ravaged arms by his side and went to inform the doctor that the gentleman in room number 49 had passed away. With an order of no resuscitation there was no need to hurry.


End file.
